


Old Days Are Fine (But They're Left So Far Behind)

by softer_softest



Category: Green Day
Genre: Boys Kissing, Fluff, High School AU, Homophobic Language, House Party, M/M, Mutual Attraction, Vomit, billie/mike - Freeform, don't worry it's nothing to worry about, first gay experiences, green day rpf - Freeform, it's slight, my favorite, that's it really, that's it!, they're figuring out their sexualities, uh, young billie, young mike, young tré
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 05:18:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softer_softest/pseuds/softer_softest
Summary: “I'm gonna-” he chokes on his tongue briefly, which makes Billie burst in a tiny fit of laughter. Mike huffs in annoyance and finally decides to spit whatever is troubling him out, “Can I kiss you?”or, billie's snuck out of the house to attend a lame house party, and by the end of the night he may be leaving with a bit more than a hangover (in the form of kissing experience).





	Old Days Are Fine (But They're Left So Far Behind)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this because i'm gay as fuck and it's also based on personal experience so if y'all need to laugh at something laugh at me! uh just the usual: this is pure fiction, i do not own green day and i'm not saying any of this happened. thanks for reading, i hope you enjoy it.

In Billie's humble, teenage opinion; either he's standing where's he's currently standing – meaning: an unknown house where some kid he doesn't even remember the face of is throwing a pretty average party – or the safe, although admittedly boring, confines of his room, one thing is certain. He is and would be bored out of his fucking mind.

To be fair, under normal circumstances, his room would be anything other than boring. It's his personal space, and he thinks it expresses everything going inside his poor little head quite well (read: the walls are covered in posters of old heavy metal and punk bands and there's a general mess of clothes and all kinds of magazines). He spends most of his time in there, and he's managed to write countless songs and amateur riffs in the safety of this room. Under normal circumstances, that is.

What that means is that his mom decided that the best kind of punishment for breaking the front window was to take away what gives Billie any kind of pleasure. So, instead of sulking and staring at the empty corner where his guitar used to lay all evening, he decided to sneak out of his bedroom window and try and have fun.

In his defense, the whole window incident wasn't even his fault. It's just that Al's a cunt, which is why Billie makes sure to remind him he's the worst brother in the whole wide world every single day. Thing is: when a cunt dares you to kick a football as high as you can, you either do it or suffer through a whole week of murmurs of 'fucking pussy' and 'fag'.

Anyway, Billie's bored.

And he's been bored for the past hour. He doesn't mean to be a killjoy – most of the time, anyway – and as much as he appreciates a good party, he can't help but roll his eyes at all the jocks yelling and making pathetic, drunk toasts every few minutes. The party's dedicated to the football team's win against Ridgewood High's team, anyway, so he should have been expecting it. But still. Jocks are annoying.

The music's nothing special either, nothing that Billie would listen to normally. He thinks he caught the ending of Smells Like Teen Spirit as he was walking in the packed house, but he hasn't heard anything else that could have caught his attention. He glances down at his Ramones shirt and then back to his phone, doing absolutely nothing on it except pretending to be busy.

“Dude!” he hears someone screech, and he assumes it isn't directed at him. It's not like he talks to anyone, anyway. “Hey, dude!” this makes him pick up his head and look at the direction of the voice, an inevitable smile stretching its way on his face.

“Oh, hey, Frank, sorry,” Billie rushes out, locking his phone and sliding it back into his pocket. Frank groans.

“Don't call me that, dude. Makes it sound like I'm a seventy-year-old pervert or some shit,” Frank says, scrunched-up face and all, and Billie can't help but laugh. “It's Tré, by the way, in case you were wondering.”

“I was about to ask,” he defends, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously and taking a sip out of his beer-filled red solo cup. “So, that's your nickname.”

“You know I'm cool,” he says, shouting out a greeting at someone who slapped his back over the music. He turns to Billie once again, “So, what are you doing on your phone, man? Aren't you having fun?”

Billie contemplates what he's going to say next, “No, it's, um... It's cool, I guess, it's-”

“You're bored out of your fucking mind, man,” Tre finishes for him, slapping his shoulder. “Don't be afraid to say it, this party kinda sucks balls.” He takes a breath from in between his teeth and suddenly twists to check out the other side of the room, turning back to Billie, “Well, I gotta go but come hang out with me if you're bored, alright?”

“Alright, Tré, thanks,” Billie rushes out, seeing as Tré is already running away in the joyous manner only Tré can muster. He follows him with his eyes for a bit, until he sees him stop on the other side of the room, in a pretty dark corner. And then he looks a little farther. And- oh.

There's a guy staring at him. Billie tries to remember where he's seen him before, but his thoughts are already jumbled up and a big mess inside his poor little brain. Thoughts that consist of quotes that Billie wouldn't be particularly proud of other people knowing, such as: "I wonder if he's as tall up close as he seems from here." Or rhetorical questions, such as: "why would a hot guy be staring at me while I'm a sweaty mess out of all days?"

Because you're a fucking jinx, he tells himself, his hand coming up to scratch at the bridge of his nose as he continues to make eye contact with the guy. He almost doesn't register that the dude has turned his head in favor of talking to Tré, who's been standing there the whole time and is not who Billie has been ogling, as much as he wishes would have been the case. At least he knows Tré so it wouldn't be as... weird.

He hasn't had any experience with flirting, is the thing. Okay, wrong wording: he hasn't had any experience in flirting with people of the same sex, with guys, with hot guys. He's just starting to figure out the whole bisexual thing that has been eating away at him for so long now, so sue him.

The fucking guy was probably checking out the room and Billie's going into a frenzy.

“Shit,” he whispers to himself and takes a gulp of his beer, turning his body away from that side of the room. He watches the people that are dancing instead, notices how loose and carefree they seem to be, and whispers another “Shit,” under his breath.

He pushes back a few stray, bleach-blond curls that have annoyingly stuck to his forehead and mechanically tries to take another sip of beer, only to realize he has already drunk it all. He looks at the inside of the cup in disbelief and contemplates getting another fill or finally going home since there's not much going on currently. No guitar or CDs, he reminds himself and promptly heads for the kitchen.

It's not a big house. It's a rather small house, closed space, so Billie has to fight his way through a bunch of sweaty, smelly teenage bodies to make it to the kitchen, the only sort of empty room in the house. Well, it's definitely less crowded, but there is a guy passed out on the countertop and a girl with her head buried in her knees, a small puddle of puke next to her on the floor. He decides to leave her alone.

He gets on his knees and rummages through the small cabinets for any sign of beer or vodka or anything, pretending to be busy as some guys walk in the kitchen, laughing loudly. Way loudly. Billie almost huffs 'those damn jocks' out loud, but manages to keep his head in the cabinet and not cause a scene for once in his adolescent life.

“Yeah, yeah,” one of the dudes wheezes out, and Billie already regrets listening in after he hears the tone of his voice. “She gives terrible head, though.”

“No way, dude.”

“I'm telling ya, one of the worsts I've ever had.”

Billie laughs a little under his breath at the embarrassing exchange, shaking his head slightly as he opens another cabinet. Seriously, how many girls would voluntarily sleep with this guy? He gives another little chuckle.

“What's so funny there, fag?” he hears one of the jocks taunt, though he pretends he's not paying attention, being too busy looking for something to help him get hammered. Sporto doesn't give up, though. “Hey, blondie, I'm talking to ya.”

This makes him turn his head to look at the absolute morons straight on, and a nervous fit of quiet giggles bursts out of his mouth. They're buff and tall, and he recognizes them as two of the players on the football team. He's kind of offended they haven't recognized him yet – he is the water boy after all – but he figures all jocks have the memory span of a goldfish or something akin to that, so he lets it slide. Not that he'd say anything in the first place.

“Hey!” he snaps again, efficiently zoning Billie back in. “Did something I say seem funny to you?”

Billie contemplates his options. He figures he'll already get his ass beat anyway, either he apologizes or fights back, so there's no use trying to be polite about it, right? “I was just wondering what kind of moron would sleep with you,” he offers, pretending to be looking for something in the wide open cabinet once again, though he's forgotten why he's here in the first place.

The bigger jock clenches and unclenches his fists. In turn, Billie rolls his eyes, which probably isn't very beneficial right now. Sporto takes the few steps necessary to tower over him, which is totally unfair in Billie's opinion because he's currently on his knees. He's not that tall, alright, but it's still unfair.

Sporto must be empathizing with him because next thing he knows he's being hoisted up by the collar of his shirt and brought to eye-level with the guy, on his tip-toes so he doesn't choke to death.

“What did you say, pansy?” he spits. His breath smells like beer and... filth, quite frankly, but Billie figures he's not in a much better position.

“I know you guys have the memory span of a goldfish but this is kinda ridiculous,” Billie says, wincing as he's being thrown against the counter, death grip still on the collar of his shirt. “You asshole!”

“Are you looking to get your ass kicked, pretty boy?” Sporto muses, and before Billie registers what's happening, he gets a kick in the stomach. A pretty hard kick in the stomach, may he add.

“Shit!” he hisses, trying to hold onto his abdomen uselessly before he's being held up again. “Let go, dickshit!”

“Or what? Is your boyfriend gonna beat me up?” he laughs, and his asshole friend laughs with him, though it's a distant ringing to Billie's ears. Not so much from the kick, but from the anger and frustration building up in his chest due to the sad fact that this asshole's got his feet dangling from the ground and there's not much he can do but take the slurs and punches thrown his way.

He's about to try and kick Sporto in the balls, anyway, when he hears an angry, though thin voice speak up from somewhere in the room, “Ugh, leave him alone, Brandon, you pest.”

Brandon tears his ugly eyes away from Billie to look at the corner of the room, where Billie remembers the girl was sitting previously. He would turn around and check for himself, but Brandon has a hold on his collar still, which, admittedly, was starting to piss him off to the point of no return.

“Shut up, Stella,” Sporto hisses, his grip on Billie going a bit loose. “Be fucking quiet and go back to sleep,” he looks back at Billie, who tries to give him his most intimidating glare. “I'm _busy_.”

“I'll tell mom you're beating up people again,” the girl warns, a dangerous edge to her tone. Billie almost gets whiplash from turning to look at her so fast. She's still hunched over her own knees, though now he can see her face, and he's pleasantly surprised. She's a pretty girl, looks nothing like the douchebag who's currently got a hold on him. “I'll also tell her about the weed and the sex on her bed.”

“That's unfair!” Brandon whines and Billie tries not to giggle out loud, only because he wants the scene to unfold a little further. “You smoked, too!”

“I'm eighteen, I can do whatever the hell I want,” she snaps, her eyes looking towards Billie briefly, before returning to who must be her brother. “You, on the other hand, are a sixteen-year-old momma's boy who only knows how to make other people miserable. Now go before I tell everyone in here what age you stopped wearing diapers.”

Brandon seethes while looking at his sister, his knuckles going white around Billie's collar. Eventually, after a pretty intense stare-down with Stella, he drops Billie on the floor, never breaking eye contact with her.

“Fucking faggot,” he mutters angrily as he and his friend stalk out of the room with heavy footsteps.

Billie rubs his neck a little bit, looking over to the girl, who's back to her previous position – with her head in her knees. He plays with his fingers for a while, contemplating what to say, and when she doesn't seem to be starting a conversation any time soon, he spits it out, “Thanks about... that.”

She looks up, her nose ring catching the light as she moves her head in an angle where the kitchen light won't be causing her a migraine, and gives him a small smile, “No worries, dude. Brandon can be a right piece of shit at times.”

“Tell me about it,” he murmurs, fixing his collar. He watches her comb out her straight strands of hair, not reaching farther down than the middle of her neck, the dark brown of it causing a kind of warmth in his abdomen. Which reminds him, fucking _ouch_. “You're way cooler than him.”

Stella chuckles under her breath, taking off her leather jacket to reveal a Runaways shirt and a thin, black choker. Billie gulps. “I have this theory that mom dropped him on his head as a baby. There's no way he got anything from us,” she jokes, fishing something out of her jacket's pocket. “Want a smoke?” she says even before she even has the cigarettes out, and Billie politely declines.

There's a comfortable silence for a while, which Billie spends looking out the empty space where a door probably used to be. He sees the guy from before, who's looking frantically around the room, searching for someone. Just before the guy's eyes land inside the kitchen area, Stella starts talking, making Billie turn his head towards her.

“He's just mad I got a girlfriend before he did,” she dismisses, moving one hand around. “He may pretend he's all tough and hot or whatever but he just needs validation. Truth is no one's gonna like him like that, but he's oblivious.”

“You got a girlfriend?” Billie asks dumbly, immediately snapping his mouth shut after. Stella's big dark eyes land on him and just stay there for a moment before she coughs out some smoke.

“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” she asks reluctantly, seemingly getting ready to put her guard up.

“No!” Billie rushes out frantically, shaking his head in the process. “No, of course not.”

“Right,” she says slowly, eyes still checking Billie out, full of judgment.

“I don't have a fucking problem with that, I'm-” he sputters, “I'm, like,” he doesn't even know what he's doing, what he's saying, and he can't fucking believe this is the first time he's going to admit this out loud. “I'm _bi_.”

It's out. He's out, to someone at least, and Stella doesn't even seem to fucking care. She's just looking at him with her eyebrows raised, and Billie's heart's beating faster. He doesn't know if it's from his admission or the intense stare.

“Cool.”

Yeah, _cool_ , he thinks. He just came out to someone, someone that he'll probably never even see before, and it felt fucking good. It felt like him, it felt new. He smiles dumbly and nods in disbelief, looking down at his knees and then back out through the kitchen's entrance. The guy's staring at him again, and he quickly looks back at Tré when Billie catches him, which motivates Billie to stand back up.

He opens the top cabinet, “Hey, d'ya know where they keep the beer around here?”

“Try the fridge,” Stella clears her throat, blowing out smoke in rings and watching as they dissolve slowly.

Billie stares at her in admiration just for a bit before looking around, spotting a tiny little fridge in the opposite corner of the room. He sticks his head inside and, indeed, there's a six pack of beer on the top shelf. He rips the packaging just enough so that he can get one for himself, but pauses. On second thought, he takes the whole six pack and closes the fridge with his foot, nibbling on his lip thoughtfully.

“Gonna get wasted?” he hears Stella inquire.

He doesn't look away from the beers in his hands, “I think I'm gonna, um. Pass them around or whatever.”

“Cool pick-up method, dude,” she jokes, taking a drag and blowing it out. “Can I have one?”

“Sure,” he tosses one to her, and fiddles with the ones he's still holding. He looks back outside through the door and feels disappointed to find that there's no hot guy staring at him. He's talking to a girl instead, and Billie smiles to himself. It's a pretty girl, too.

“I can smell the puppy love,” Stella breathes in through her nose dramatically, taking a sip of beer when Billie laughs nervously. “Has someone out there grabbed your attention?”

Billie ponders it for a second. “There's a guy. I caught him staring a couple times. I think he's hot. Um.”

It's the first time he talks to anyone about anything that may hint towards him liking guys. It's with a total stranger, too, someone he won't see ever again, probably, and that's what's so thrilling about it. He can say whatever comes to mind and Stella probably won't care enough to remember or is too high to recall later. It's perfect, something to get it out of his system.

Stella doesn't react.

“Do you think I should... like...”

“I think you should, like,” she mocks, sighing when she sees Billie shake his head self-consciously. “Just, go talk to him, I guess? Shit, man, I don't know, I'm shit at hitting on people, too.”

Billie chuckles under his breath.

“It's true! Just offer him a beer or something, I'm sure he's not mean enough not to take it,” she ponders it for a second. She looks at him, “Wait, did you say he was staring at you?”

Billie's eyes flicker to the left as he recalls his exact words from his pathetic little rant, and he nods reluctantly.

“Just go and ask him why he was looking at you,” Stella takes another sip of her beer, backtracking when she sees Billie's disbelieving look. “Not, like, in confrontation. Just be like, 'Hey, dude, I saw you staring. Like what you see?'” she makes an exaggerated motion with her long leg, successfully pulling a laugh out of Billie. “Alright?”

Billie's laugh dies down eventually, and he lifts his gaze from the beer in his hands to look out the kitchen's entrance once again, seeing the guy playing cards with Tré, laughing and accepting a sip of an unknown drink from the girl he was talking to earlier.

“Nah, I guess I'll stay here,” he decides.

Stella's groan is probably audible through the loud music and out to the lounge room, but Billie doesn't really blame her.

“You're stuck with me, Stella!” he sticks his tongue out like the obnoxious fuck he is and drops back down on the floor, his back to the fridge. Stella peeks out from in between her fingers, where she buried her head previously so that she could avoid looking at the living-walking-talking embarrassment Billie is.

“That I am,” she mumbles and takes a big gulp of her beer, deciding to put out her cigarette on the kitchen floor. She glances up at the guy who's passed out on the counter-top. “What's your name, anyway?”

Billie looks at her, decides that the question is directed at him and not the unconscious body she's currently eyeing, and answers, “Billie Joe. You can call me Billie.”

“Very... yeehaw-ish,” she mumbles, and Billie groans, although he knows it's a joke.

“Yeah – my mom's on drugs.”

She nods – Billie doesn't know whether it's in agreement or understanding – and she stops to look at him. Her eyes are always analyzing, he thinks, and it's fairly kind of intimidating. He drops his eyes on his hands, decides _'what the hell?'_ and pops open one of the beers he's still holding, downing some of it and wiping his wet mouth on his wrist.

He supposes that's the end of the conversation for a while, and he's not quite opposed to it, even though he thinks Stella's one of the coolest people he's ever met. He just needs to sit in silence for a while (as much as he can with the bass of the music thrumming in his chest).

He zones off for a while, and only zones back in when he sees a pair of feet moving towards him. Once his vision isn't hazy anymore, he can see that the person's standing a foot away from Billie's own feet, and he glances up reluctantly. He half-expects to see the prick from before or one of his jerk-off friends, or someone drunk enough to throw up in his hair, and once his head is lifted he tightens his grip around his beer.

“Hey,” says a blond guy, his frame illuminated from the kitchen light, making Billie have to wait until his eyes adjust to get a proper look at him. He already knows it's the same guy from out there, hot-and-staring guy, so his grip, unfortunately for him, doesn't loosen, and he gets the tiniest bit of beer on his pants. The guy glances down at the tiny stain ever so briefly and then his eyes are back on Billie Joe, though more skeptical.

“Uh, hi?” Billie sputters, resisting the urge to huff at himself. He takes a nervous gulp of beer instead.

The guy stares at him for a while (all he seems to be doing tonight, Billie thinks) and then seems to finally let out what he's been dying to ask all night, “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Billie doesn't react: his eyes are still firmly planted on the guy's face, just analyzing a bit more, wanting to answer the question without sounding like a fool.

He shrugs one shoulder, “I don't know, man. Don't think I've seen you before.”

If that isn't an efficient way to end a conversation. Billie hopes he didn't sound eager to shut the guy up – but he doesn't really care, he just hopes the guy will come up with something else to say. He doesn't know if the whole 'do I know you?' gig is some sort of bad pick-up line or whatever, but it's thoroughly amusing.

The guy still seems to be analyzing Billie's every feature, wracking his brain for an explanation as to why he seems so familiar, obviously comes up with nothing, and decides to move on. “Alright, well, uh. I was just... looking for something to drink.”

Billie looks up at him in disbelief, because, if he remembers correctly, he was just drinking beer a few minutes ago when he last checked him out. Unless he gulped it all down in one go, Billie calls bullshit on that one, but of course, will let it slide.

“Okay, well,” he clears his throat, his head banging slightly on the metal behind him. His eyes widen, “Oh! Oh, I forgot I was standing in front of the- Sorry, dude,” he rushes out, motioning to scoot over so the guy can get some vodka or something.

“Hey, Billie, why don't you just give him some of the beer you're conveniently holding?” he hears Stella inquire, probably as neutral as she could, judging from the look on her face, which holds some type of hidden amusement.

Billie looks down at his hands. Wow. “I... forgot I was holding those,” he mutters to himself, almost in disbelief, but the guy obviously hears him because he chuckles under his breath. Billie musters up an apologetic look and hands the guy a beer. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks, dude,” he accepts the can and holds it for a moment, his eyes sliding around the room, looking for somewhere to land on. He twists and turns the beer in his hands, finally mustering the courage to look at Billie again, “Uh, do you mind if I sit here for a while?”

Billie, almost automatically, looks at Stella for a brief second before averting his gaze back to its rightful owner. He says rightful owner, because the guy's truly handsome, even more so now that he shows some kind of interest towards Billie, apart from meaningless stares. Billie doesn't say anything, just scoots over again and nods with his head down.

It's enough for the guy because he accepts the space he's been given silently and opens his can of beer, only a bit of foam getting on his fingers. “I'm Mike.”

Billie still doesn't look at him, only nods in acknowledgment. “Billie Joe.”

“So I heard,” Mike comments, and Billie looks at Stella. She's got her head back in her knees, probably pretending to have nodded off so that she can give them some sort of privacy, or has indeed nodded off. Billie thinks the first one's the case.

He looks back at Mike and finds him looking at her as well. “I met her tonight,” he mumbles to him, knowing very well that Stella's most probably awake, though she probably doesn't care enough to listen in, anyway. Still. “She's pretty cool.”

Mike glances at him and nods tightly, taking a gulp of his beer, then stretching his neck to look at the ceiling. One of his tank's sleeves almost slips off his left shoulder, and both of his collarbones are exposed. “You like the Ramones?”

Billie almost doesn't answer, because Mike's eyes are glued to his beer. Mike lifts his head to give him a questioning look, and Billie sputters, “Oh! Yeah, I love them.”

Mike's shoulders shake with soft, silent laughter, and Billie smiles back at him. “Cool. They're awesome.”

Billie glances down at his shirt for the second time that night, out of instinct, and watches Mike drink his beer. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees some movement in the kitchen's entrance but doesn't care enough to check it out. He sees Mike do it instead, and he also sees him smile all flustered at someone. Absentmindedly, he looks in the same direction and ducks his head when his eyes meet Tré's. He lifts his hand in salutation, and Tré returns the gesture.

“You know Tré?” Mike asks, and something about the look on his face gives Billie the impression that he already knows the answer.

“He's cool. Pun intended,” Billie folds his legs as Mike laughs. “He's in my Bio class. He's also the only person that talks to me in that class, so.”

“He's nice like that,” Mike agrees. He huffs out loud, “God, I swear I've seen you before.”

Billie turns to get a good look at him. He thinks he's seen him around school before, but that's where it's at. “We go to the same school, so. I guess you've seen me around.”

“No, it's-” his face lights up suddenly, and he snaps his fingers together. “Hey! Hey, I remember where I've seen you before!”

Billie raises his eyebrows at him. Mike's just staring at him and not elaborating further. He's not even sure he wants to know where Mike knows him from, quite frankly. His curiosity gets the best of him, though.

“Well?”

“Weren't you that guy who got on stage at Gilman and got his guitar stuck in his nose ring?”

Billie stares at him. There aren't many ways he can answer this question; a simple yes or no will suffice, but the thing is... he doesn't know how to give him an answer. He doesn't recall anything from that goddamn night, anyway, only the fact that it was so vividly described to him by Tré and that he woke up with his nose ring missing all of a sudden.

Mike's still grinning.

“Shit, man, I-” Billie starts, hoping he'll be able to form a coherent sentence along the way, at least. He has no idea what bullshit he's spewing out. “I don't- I can't remember anything from that night. I must have been stoned out of my fucking mind.”

“That you were,” Mike finally lets out a laugh, which he's been trying to hold in ever since he came to the realization that Billie's the infamous Gilman dumbass. “God- You seriously don't remember?”

Billie shakes his head no slowly. “I take it you do.”

“Of course I do, man. It was legendary,” he says and tries to take a sip out of his beer, though the laughter still bubbling out of him doesn't let him. “You're funny, dude.”

Billie's heart clenches a little, and he puts his lips against his beer to hide his flustered little smirk. He takes a sip. “That's a first,” he mutters.

Mike doesn't say anything else, though Billie can practically hear how much he wants to. He starts slapping his hand rhythmically against his knee, discreetly. He sighs, “So. You play guitar, then?”

Billie laughs, “Thought we'd established that with the whole nose ring fiasco.”

“Yeah, well,” Mike shrugs, stealing glances at him, “I'm just asking because what you played up on Gilman didn't sound like someone that's ever picked up a guitar in their life.”

“Oh, _God_ ,” Billie groans and buries his head in his knees, similar to Stella, but his arms are still limp by his sides. “Stop reminding me how much of an ass I made of myself.”

Mike almost spills a bit of his beer from how much he's shaking, his laughter filling up Billie's brain until the embarrassment is barely there to scream at him, replaced by the chants of 'pretty' and 'cute' and stuff he'll deny if he was confronted about. He still hardly registers any of it.

“But, no, I actually play the guitar. It's just that, um, sometimes when I'm high my fingers get all numb, so,” Billie continues, wanting to carry on with their discussion somehow.

Mike's still giggling then and there, but he seems to be listening to what Billie's saying. He looks a bit buzzed, too, and Billie will be damned if he says he's not at least a bit tipsy himself. “I play the bass. I'm in a, uh, band with Tré. Don't know if you've heard us on Gilman.”

Billie's eyes involuntarily drift back to Tré, who's out there chatting up some guy and looking like he's having the time of his life. He looks back at Mike's expectant eyes, “No, I haven't, man. Are you guys any good?”

Mike ponders it for a second, and then looks at his hands, “I can't answer that.”

“Right,” Billie slurs. “So, a bass player. Hot.”

Mike looks up slowly, and Billie doesn't find it in him to be embarrassed. The beer he's currently holding, plus the other two he downed when he first walked in, combined with the smell of weed in the air have gotten into his head, and he can't think straight. That's exactly the reason why he has to act as gay as it gets, or at least that seems to be his logic for tonight.

Mike doesn't comment on the last bit. “You do understand that now that I've heard that god-awful cover of Neat Neat Neat coming from your numb fingers,” he pauses to shove his finger into Billie's shoulder in an accusing manner, though Billie knows it's just an excuse to touch him, “you have to redeem yourself.”

“Sure, when I get my guitar back.”

He's just spitting out whatever comes to mind at this point and downs the rest of the remaining beer in the can. He opens another one.

“Did that night's audience confiscate it once they heard you play or what?” Mike jokes.

Billie laughs harder than he would normally. “Nah, my- my mom's taken it away because I broke her window.”

“Ah,” Mike nods, shrugging a shoulder and chugging the remains of beer in his own can, tossing it away somewhere after. “That sucks.”

“Tell me about it.” He pauses. “You want another one?”

Mike contemplates it for a moment. “Sure.”

So he hands him another one and proceeds to say whatever comes to mind. It's the usual when he's either drunk or high, which is why he's been described as intolerable by many while hammered. Mike doesn't seem to mind, though he seems to be as drunk as Billie. Maybe less. Billie's not famous for his high alcohol tolerance, he's famous for getting his guitar stuck in his nose ring.

The music seems to be getting louder and worse as the time passes by, and Billie makes sure to insult the DJ's music taste every chance he gets, something that Mike responds to by an overly dramatic, loud giggle. Billie's pretty sure he can't control the volume of his voice right now, so he doesn't comment on it.

“Hey,” he says to Mike at some point, loud, so that he can be heard over the music, “do you wanna hear a story about the first time I drank piss?”

“The first time?” Mike wheezes out after he's laughed for a few seconds at Billie's offer. “There's been more than one time?”

“They were-” he burps, “it was accidental.”

“Aha.”

Mike zones out for a minute or two, and all Billie can think about is that his ass hurts from being seated on the floor for so long. He shifts around and bumps knees with Mike a few times, who's still too out of it to notice.

Eventually, he zones back in. “Can I tell you something?”

Billie sniffs, “Sure. Don't you wanna hear my story first?”

“No,” Mike clears his throat, getting in a position where he can face Billie, legs folded and all. “You have to promise you won't tell anyone.”

  
Billie burps again, “I'll probably not even remember it in an hour. I'm kinda drunk right now, _so_.”

“Right,” Mike licks his lips and plays with the bracelets he's wearing on his right hand. He's silent for quite a long time, so much so that Billie thinks he's forgotten about what he was about to say.

He clears his throat, “Well?”

“Hold on,” Mike chuckles nervously and shakes his head. “I'm trying to- Right,” he nods, and his eyes are a bit hazy like he's still zoned out.

“Look, if it's so hard for you, maybe th-”

“I think I like boys.”

Billie stops talking. He raises one eyebrow, then the other one, then he clears his throat for the hundredth time the past hour.

“Like- not _just_ boys, but, it's more like. Boys, as well,” he elaborates, though Billie wasn't particularly looking for an explanation. He kind of understands the place Mike's in right now.

“Oh,” he says lamely, nodding once. “Cool.”

Silence. “ _Cool?”_

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Billie slurs, laughing nervously at Mike's expectant expression. “I'm not some asshole if that's what you were thinking.”

“I didn't think that.”

“Alright,” he takes a sip of beer. “I guess it's cool that you're, uh, figuring it out,” he shrugs a shoulder. “Is that good enough?”

Mike sighs in desperation, shoulders slumping a bit. Billie doesn't know if it's from relief or disappointment. He doesn't know what he was expecting him to say exactly. Billie can't even talk about it comfortably, so he doesn't know why he's expected to give advice all of a sudden.

“So, your overall assumption is,” Mike sniffs, then breathes out a laugh, “ _cool.”_

Billie screws up his mouth in annoyance but decides not to snap at him. The guy's going through a rough patch right now, and Billie knows from experience how it feels. Maybe it helps that he likes to hear Mike talk, or that he's exceptionally pretty. He's ashamed to admit it, but it's true.

When Billie makes no move to respond, Mike reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “Thanks,” he murmurs, “you want one?”

Billie pulls one out wordlessly and puts it in his mouth. Mike lights his with a match, then Billie's when he reaches out for his own.

“It's just weird...” Mike continues, and Billie sighs out the smoke. “You know?”

“How would I know?”

Mike looks at him. “Right.”

Billie feels like he's being scrutinized, so his only logical, drunk response is to take a drag and blow it out directly in Mike's face, then proceed to watch him try and swallow it uselessly. When he fails, as expected, Mike breaks down laughing, almost burning his own hair with his fag as he buries his head down in his thighs.

They're not even alone in the room anymore, there's a bunch of different people scattered around, talking, dancing, and making out. Billie's not sure if he's registered them yet.

Mike tenses up a little, and Billie can practically smell the gears turning in his head. That's not the first time he's thought about it tonight.

Mike leans in conspiratorially, “Billie Joe?”

Billie hiccups and looks at Mike through hazy eyes. He mimics his over-dramatic tone, _“Mike.”_

Mike gulps and looks down at the cigarette he's holding, suddenly hyper-aware of how crowded this room is. “Uh,” he slurs, nibbling on the inside of his cheek nervously.

Billie furrows his eyebrows.

“I'm gonna-” he chokes on his tongue briefly, which makes Billie bursts in a tiny fit of laughter. Mike huffs in annoyance and finally decides to spit whatever is troubling him out, “Can I kiss you?”

Maybe it wasn't the best time to be taking a drag, Billie decides, because he's currently choking on the smoke, his breaths stuttering and top lip sweating. Maybe it wasn't the best time to be in the room during Mike's sexual awakening, even, or, the best assumption: Mike should have just kept his drunken thought to himself.

He doesn't seem proud of his admission, himself. Mike's scratching at his head intensely, so much so that it seems painful, and Billie waits for him to pull out a strand or two. He doesn't.

“Huh?”

Mike rubs at both of his eyes. He takes a few nervous drags out of his cigarette, taking his sweet time, making it seem that he's not gonna elaborate further on his previous statement. He does, eventually. “Can I,” he clears his throat, whispering low enough so that Billie has to strain to hear him, “ _kiss_ you?”

Billie doesn't mean to stare at him so intensely, he really doesn't, but he can't really help it, now, can he? It's just... _absurd_. It's not a question he was planning on being asked tonight. Which reminds him, he hasn't even checked the time in a long while. His mom's probably put the pieces together by now; though that's not the main thing on his mind right now.

“Don't look at me like that,” Mike huffs out, shaking his head and staring straight ahead. He takes another drag.

Billie laughs in disbelief, “You can't really blame me. Admit it.”

Mike turns away from him, “Forget it.”

He's not sure what's going through his own mind right now, or what his answer should be at this point, but one thing's for certain. Mike's upset, and Billie's drunk. Billie's also into Mike, and the feeling's quite obviously mutual, but it's still pretty damn confusing. He sighs and scoots closer discreetly.

“Okay.”

 _“Okay,”_ Mike repeats, in the midst of blowing out cigarette smoke. He backtracks once he's registered what has quite happened, turning towards Billie in the speed of light, “Okay? Huh?”

Billie looks around the room, “Okay. I'll, uh. Kiss you.”

Mike's eyes seem to light up, and he, too, looks around the room slowly, “Alright, but, um. Meet me in the bathroom in a sec.”

Billie huffs in annoyance but nods anyway. He's not about to take Mike's joy away from him now that he's given it to him, he's not heartless. “Alright, whatever.”

Mike nods tightly, running his free hand through his hair, “Shit. Right.” He tries to stand up, but his legs feel like jello from lying around for so long. He doesn't look back at him once he has finally stood up, he just walks out of the room, leaving Billie and his jumbled thoughts alone with a bunch of other unknown faces. He stares at his cigarette, then checks on Stella at the other side of the room, finding her staring at him.

He raises his eyebrows, “What?”

“What?” she huffs out, rubbing one of her puffy eyes. “I have to admit: although that was the most pathetic attempt at flirting, it was endearing as fuck.”

“There was no flirting,” Billie rolls his eyes. “There were admissions and announcements. And a meeting which I have to attend. So, if you'll excuse me.”

He stands up, having to pause to gain feeling back on his legs, then stomps on his cigarette. He takes a second to really think this through, then determinedly walks out of the godforsaken kitchen.

“Have fun!” he hears Stella muse loudly, but he doesn't care enough to flip her off.

The bathroom, he thinks. Where the hell could the bathroom be? Mike's probably been there before, he guesses, but he has no fucking clue where anything is. He catches sight of Tré fiddling with a bong, so he runs over there, his hands nervously fiddling with the greasy curls atop his head.

Tré sees him approaching and lifts his hand in salutation, “What's up, man? Havin' fun?”

“Yeah, Tré, uh,” he rushes out, figuring it'd be better if he got straight to the point. “Do you happen to know where the bathroom is around here?”

Tré doesn't miss a beat; he lifts his eyebrows and his face takes on an obnoxious, knowing expression, nodding towards the narrow staircase by the couch. “Up the stairs, the green door,” he clears his throat after, looking like he wants to add something, but decides against it. Billie's thankful. He wouldn't know how to respond.

Does he think about chickening out? Sure. A lot. The walk from the lounge room up the stairs and to the left isn't that much of a distance, anyway, but Billie has to admit that he thinks about leaving Mike hanging and running back to his own house more than a couple times.

He's already in front of the green door, though, and he thinks about knocking first but decides that it would be a waste of time. He barges in, instead, and there Mike is, lying in the bathtub, his cigarette almost finished at this point, but still in his mouth. He looks like he's been messing with his hair and face a lot. It would be endearing if Billie wasn't two seconds away from shitting his pants.

“I have to admit I was sort of hoping you wouldn't show up,” Mike confesses, letting out a stuttering breath.

Billie's heart clenches up. “I mean... It's just a kiss, man. And you're not obligated to do it either. You were the one that suggested it.”

“I know, I know,” Mike huffs, trying to get out of the bathtub, slipping one too many times before he gives up. “That's what makes it even more absurd.” He goes quiet for a while. “Billie Joe?”

“Yeah?” Billie whispers, thinking that a higher volume would be inappropriate. Why does everything have to be so fucking dramatic? He could just go over there, kiss the dude and get it over with. _The dude_. Maybe that's why everything's so dramatic.

Mike refuses to look at him, “Do you think I'm just drunk?”

“I think you're fucking wasted, man,” Billie sighs, walking over and sitting at the edge of the tub. He hopes that's as comforting as it gets. “But you know that has nothing to do with it.”

He feels like a fucking shrink all of a sudden, so he attempts to try and clear his head while a hormonal, confused teenager's sitting in the tub next to him. But _he's_ a hormonal, confused teenager. Two hormonal, confused teenagers in a tiny bathroom isn't a very good idea, Billie thinks, but it's happening anyway. Maybe not any time soon if Mike continues weeping around.

“I know,” Mike sniffs, sitting up so he can look at Billie Joe better. “I guess we should get it over with, huh?”

“Ugh, you don't have to, you know?” Billie snaps, not as harsh as he intended to, at least. “You're hot, you'll have more opportunities to... exp- Fuck, what am I even talking about?” he buries his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “You wanna do this or not? I gotta get home soon.”

“Don't stress me out further, man,” Mike makes to sit next to Billie at the edge of the tub, but obviously decides against it. “Let's just do it.”

“Alright,” Billie sighs, looking at Mike, who's still sitting down in the tub. So, he's expected to lean down. He still has to think about it, but there's no fucking time for that because Mike's scooting even closer, up until his legs don't have any room to move.

“Wait,” Billie says suddenly, taking the two steps necessary to reach the door and lock it. He sits back down, “You wouldn't need anyone walking in right now.”

“Thanks,” Mike breathes out, his body language screaming uncomfortable and uneasy. It's making it even harder for Billie, honestly, but he doesn't have it in him to yell at him some more.

Billie leans down just a tad, so that they're somewhat at the same height, and clears his throat. His hands are gripping the edge of the tub.

“I don't know where to put my hands,” Mike whispers, accompanied with a nervous giggle. He is, too, gripping the tub with both of his hands like a moron, but Billie has no room to talk, really.

“Shit, man, have you never kissed a girl before? I'm not sure I wanna be your first kiss.”

Mike rolls his eyes, “I've kissed a girl before. You're not a girl.”

“It's a _kiss,”_ he exclaims, as quietly as he can, because it's oddly calm in here and he doesn't wanna ruin it. “Do whatever you did with a girl, man. I don't know,” he adds for good measure because he doesn't want to sound eager or something. Truth is, he's not fucking eager, and he knows this is gonna end in complete embarrassment on both parties. But he wants to do it. He has a knack for self-destruction, sue him.

Mike nods to himself, counts to three, then puts both of his hands on Billie's waist, gripping hard. Billie doesn't wanna laugh, because he's not in a much better position himself, so he represses it.

“Could you maybe... loosen your grip?”

“Sorry,” Mike rushes out, hands going a bit looser on Billie. “Sorry, I'm fucking nervous.”

“Can tell.”

“Alright,” Mike leans up a little. “Let's just get it over with.”

Billie supposes it'd be best not to say anything at this point, not wanting to risk another discussion and more wasting time. He leans down, and Mike leans up. Almost on instinct, Billie's hand reaches down and cradles Mike's cheek, finding hard cheekbone to hold and deciding to stay there. His other hand's still holding on the edge of the tub for dear life.

There's a moment when he hears that prick Brandon calling him a fag on a loop in his head, and then his lips are on Mike's, who's still as all fuck. Billie doesn't move for a while, wanting Mike to adjust, but for him to also register what fuck is happening, and then he starts moving. Mike's a bit stunned, he supposes, and not from his excellent kissing skills, but from the fact that he can feel calloused fingers on his face, and not the usual baby soft skin. It's a transition.

Just when Billie decides this is hopeless, Mike starts to react, his hands surer on Billie's waist, and his lips moving for the first time, eyes shut tight. Billie knows from how tense his cheekbone is. He strokes it a little, and Mike stops straining his eyelids, almost on cue.

Billie's the first one to pull away, quicker than he was expecting, but he's glad he did it. He needs a second to breathe, to think about what just happened, to think about how he kissed a fucking boy for the first time in his life. He supposes his expression's even more stunned than Mike's, who's just staring at the hand Billie has gripping the bathtub's edge.

“I liked it,” Mike mumbles, almost to himself. “What does that mean?”

Billie sighs out a couple breaths and looks at him in disbelief, at the first boy he's kissed. He twiddles his fingers around, straining his neck to look at the ceiling. “I think we should do it again,” he mumbles, clearing his throat when he sees Mike move his head to look at him from the corner of his eye. “That was a pretty pathetic attempt at a kiss, man.”

“I kiss _fine,”_ Mike snaps, tensing up when someone tries to open the door. They leave as quickly as they came, and Mike can breathe again. “I was fucking nervous, alright?” he says lower, afraid that someone could be eavesdropping on the other side of the door.

Billie briefly wonders how they're going to get out of there without making it plainly obvious what had happened, but it leaves his mind as quickly as it entered. He'll have to deal with it later, not now. Not now that Mike's looking at him like that.

“You wanna do it again?” Mike asks reluctantly, picking at the grime under his fingernails.

Billie pretends to think about it for a second, though he thinks they both know what his answer's gonna be. “I guess.”

Mike chuckles under his breath, and then he stands up from the tub, with great difficulty. His legs feel like jello, but he manages to stand in the middle of the tiny bathroom, beckoning Billie to stand as well.

“We're gonna do it right, man.”

Billie rolls his eyes in annoyance, and sits there for a while just to be a brat, but eventually stands up and in front of Mike. His hands are in his pockets and he's looking at his shoes, and that's how he knows that this kiss is gonna be even worse than the previous one.

“Can you fucking look at me?” Mike says humorously, probably finding the fact that Billie's world's turning upside down fucking hilarious. “This isn't gonna go anywhere if you're this tense.”

“Maybe I don't want it to go anywhere,” Billie's being an annoying brat and he knows it, but it's his immediate reaction to feeling uncomfortable, so Mike will have to make do with it. He guesses it's good enough that he's picked up his head and is looking straight at Mike now, as much as he can with the fucking height difference. He's lucky Mike hasn't commented on how tiny he is by now, he supposes.

“You're the one who suggested it,” Mike laughs, and Billie's pretty sure this is the second time one of them says it in under ten minutes. Another thing that's getting on his nerves is how carefree Mike looks all of a sudden, like he wasn't shitting his pants about kissing another boy two minutes ago. He decides that he doesn't want to be the one who's uneasy anymore.

“Yeah, well, how come you're so comfortable now?” Billie clips, pushing Mike jokingly, though he wishes he would have done it harder, so that maybe he could hit his head somewhere and forget Billie's pathetic attempt at a kiss earlier. No such luck. “You were two seconds away from pissing yourself.”

Mike zones out for just a bit, contemplating it, then zones back in with a stupid smile on his face, “Shit, I don't know.”

“You know fucking what,” Billie snaps, because he's getting pissed. He doesn't even know why he's getting pissed – it may be that Mike is enjoying this while Billie's losing his fucking mind thinking about the whole ordeal, or maybe that Mike looks so eager to go again, which is such a transition from the awkward, uncomfortable Mike that was getting on his nerves a mere five minutes ago. Whatever it is, Billie's pissed, and he's grabbing the back of Mike's neck and urging him forward.

Mike has a second or so to squeak before he's being shut up by Billie's mouth, and he has less than a second to react before Billie's relentless mouth starts moving along. That being said, he does react, though timidly. It's still new to him, and it's still new to Billie, but he pretends that he knows what he's doing and that admittedly helps a whole lot.

Mike's forgotten that his arms are still lying still next to his slouched torso, so he makes quick work of gripping Billie's waist and bringing him closer, pretending that he's the couple of girls he's kissed in his sixteen-year-old lifetime. Though Billie's not a girl, and Mike doesn't want him to be a girl, which makes his head spin dangerously quick. It may be that or the fact that Billie's trying to slip in a bit of tongue.

“Jesus,” Mike pulls away to murmur, but his mouth is on Billie's again a second later, this time him being the one slipping tongue in. It's quite experimental, one might say, but that doesn't make it any less life-changing for Mike, or Billie for the matter. Mike feels every gap in Billie's fucked up teeth, every twist and sharp edge, and Billie can't think of anything poetic to say right this second, though he knows this moment will be the inspiration for many shitty songs to be written in the middle of the night.

There's another person trying to enter the bathroom at some point, and Mike almost breaks away and screams at them to get it moving if it wasn't for Billie to pull away first. He's dizzy, is the thing, and he feels the room start to spin, and Mike's spinning, also. There's something moving along his throat, and he only has a few seconds to kneel down in front of the toilet before all the beers he's drunk are spilling out of his mouth, the same mouth that Mike was sucking the life out of a second ago.

Mike doesn't find it in him to be disgusted. He rubs at his face, instead, willing his heart to stop jack-rabbiting against his chest, trying to calm his spinning head. He peeks at Billie through his fingers and sees him lying with his forehead against the toilet seat, face scrunched-up in what looks like pain.

“For fuck's sake,” Billie whispers to himself, though Mike can hear him perfectly clear. He rips his head away from the toilet seat and sighs out a deep breath, daring to look at Mike through watery eyes. His lips are shiny, and Mike would say it's from his own spit if he didn't know better. “Way to ruin the mood, huh?”

Mike doesn't know what to respond to that. Most importantly, he doesn't know why that truly didn't kill his mood, or why he still has a boner after this, or why he still thinks Billie Joe is fucking hot. It's like he thinks with his fucking dick all of a sudden, but he knows that's not the case. It's just that Billie's cute, and he feels bad for him because it's obvious he's had too much to drink. It was bad timing.

He doesn't know what to say to make Billie feel better, so he opts to say what's spinning around his mind for the better half of an hour. “You're so pretty.”

Billie sniffs, never breaking eye contact, and sniffs again for good measure. He checks inside the toilet, rubs his throat and flushes, trying to wrap his head around the shit Mike's spewing. He's just thrown up, fucking puked right after making out with a hot guy, and all said hot guy can say is how he finds Billie _pretty_. He'd puke again if there was anything left in his system.

“What?” he mumbles, his fist pressing into his eye and making him see dark spots, numbing his eyeball.

“I said you're pretty,” Mike sounds like he doesn't believe he's actually saying that out loud, which is a tremendous compliment in Billie's eyes. The only person to ever call him pretty was his mom, and that was when he was nine, before he started acting like an obnoxious brat.

Billie shakes his head, “I'd kiss you if I didn't taste like vomit right now.”

Mike laughs, kneeling down next to Billie and staring down the toilet, for whatever reason, “Yeah, you... you'd better not.”

“Jesus fucking...” Billie exclaims, burying his head in his hands for the millionth time the past hour alone, feeling embarrassed to the point of no return. “I just had to puke right that motherfucking moment, huh?”

“I can puke, too, if it will make you feel better,” Mike jokes, contemplating whether he should put his hand on Billie's back or not. He decides that, yes, he wants to touch Billie, comfort him. He puts a reluctant hand on his back and scoots closer, ignoring the people knocking on the door.

Billie shakes his head, “I guess I'd better go home,” he sniffs, frustration clearly written on his face, but Mike knows he's frustrated with his own self. Which is fucking dumb. He's not gonna make him feel worse about it, though.

Mike plays with a stray curl on Billie's cheek, not commenting on how greasy it is, and puts it behind his ear. He helps him stand up and decides to take action before Billie storms out of there and leaves him hanging.

“Thanks for that,” he whispers, feeling that anything above it would be inappropriate. “You really don't know how much that helped me.”

Billie's quiet for all about five seconds before he comes closer and leaves a kiss on Mike's cheek. Mike thinks _'what the hell'_ and springs into action before Billie moves away, leaving a sweet, closed-mouth kiss on his lips.

Billie bursts out laughing, “Mike, that's _disgusting_ , my dude.”

“Honestly,” Mike makes a show of licking his lips, sending Billie into another fit of giggles, “it's like you didn't puke at all.”

“Let's pretend that didn't fucking happen, alright?” Billie winces, unlocking the door. He opens it just a smidge to see if it's crowded upstairs, but luckily there are just a few people chatting further away, so he opens the door as discreetly as he can and walks out, with Mike hot on his heels.

Billie doesn't know what he should do once they reach the door, and he's not even sure where Mike's going either, so he opts to just stand there with his hand on the handle and Mike fiddling with his hands.

“Goodnight. I guess,” Billie waves uselessly, and that makes Mike finally look up.

“I'll see you around. Right?” he asks, and he doesn't sound reluctant at all, Billie would even say it's an offer. It's simple, straight to the point, and confident. He can't help but melt a little.

“Um,” he laughs anxiously, rubbing the sweat away from his top lip with his wrist, “sure. Why not?”

“I mean, like, we should get together sometime, and, like,” he's looking for the correct words to use, Billie knows it, so he gives him a second, an amused glint in his eye, “hang out.”

“Damn, I didn't know I was such a good kisser,” he whispers conspiratorially, and Mike starts laughing, telling him that he is, indeed, to which Billie doesn't respond. He blushes instead, of course he does, because he's a fucking idiot, “I'd like to hang out. I'll see you around, Mike.”

“Right. You have to tell me the piss story at some point.”

Billie rolls his eyes as he walks out in the cold. “Yeah, maybe not!” he yells as he walks away, grinning at Mike's dumb expression.

He finally breathes as Mike closes the door. That was that. He's almost sober now, one would say, though his head hurts like a motherfucker, and he's ready to lie down and sleep for a week. He walks with a skip in his step, and he feels like one of those dumb girls in the teen movies his sister used to watch and babble to him about.

Billie's officially kissed a boy. It only registers to him that he's fucking done it when he knocks on the door to his house, completely forgetting it's past midnight and he wasn't even supposed to be out. He thinks about it as his mom yells at him, he thinks about it as he brushes the vomit off his teeth, and he thinks about it as he's trying to sleep.

He doesn't know if the correct word would be _it_ , or _him_. He thinks about both.

And for definitely not the first or last time in his life, Billie knows he's fucking screwed.


End file.
